spun on her heel, knocking the smallest of her suitcases over and starting a domino effect that ended with all her luggage hitting the dock. He couldn’t hear the bang from behind the protection of the glass, but he could imagine that it—and her growl of frustration—had been loud.
Logically, he realized the longer he waited the worse the explosion was going to be.
Taking a deep breath, he schooled his features into a mask of indifference and headed out into the afternoon heat.
Tucking his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts, Simon ambled toward the dock. He broke through the line of rich tropical foliage to find Marcy had righted her bags and was staring in his direction, no doubt having heard his feet on the path.
“Simon,” she said, her face twisted into a frown already. Not great. “What are you doing?”
Propping his hip against the wooden railing that surrounded the dock, he said, “I came to tell you that the ferry isn’t coming.”
“What?” she exclaimed. The already high color on her cheeks flamed even brighter. She looked behind her over the water, as if the ferry might turn a corner and prove him a liar at any moment. “The ferry comes every day. Twice.”
“Not today.”
“What happened? Was there an accident? Is anyone injured?”
Simon felt the pinch of guilt as he realized that her first assumption was only an accident could stop the one form of transportation on and off the island. And she was worried about other people more than her own inconvenience.
He had to come clean.
“No, no accident. I called and canceled the service.”
Marcy swung her eyes back to him. They were wide with confusion. The cloud of her long blond hair, usually pulled tight into a smooth ponytail during work hours, floated around her face. He liked it down and couldn’t remember a single time in the past two years that he’d seen it this way. Free. Not exactly a word he would have normally used to describe Marcy. His gaze traveled down her body and he realized she wasn’t wearing her trademark suit, either. Instead she wore a pale green polo—every button done up to her throat—and a pair of crisp khaki shorts. Had he ever seen her legs bare?
Shaking his head, he jerked his mind back to where it should be. “Why the hell would you do that?”
He shrugged, knowing the inevitable shitstorm he was about to release. “Because I couldn’t let you leave. I need you here, Marcy, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you here for the next two weeks.”
“You … you …” she sputtered, her eyes turning hard and sharp. “You canceled the ferry?”
“Yep.” While he tried to maintain the relaxed air he’d adopted the minute he set foot on the tropical island, his eyes stayed clear and focused on Marcy. He honestly had no idea what she might do. “You gave me the idea.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re the one who suggested I kidnap you. I always try to take your advice.”
She growled low in the back of her throat. It was the same sort of sound the pit bull he’d had as a child used to make when a stranger entered their yard. A warning. Only this time he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the one about to have his hand bitten.
“You do no such thing. Ignoring me has become a sort of hobby for you and we both know it.”
Well, he had, but until this moment he hadn’t realized she’d been aware.
“Fine,” she said, her jaw hard and tight. “I’ll call Rusty for a private launch.”
He debated whether or not to let her make the call. He knew what Rusty’s answer would be—his and that of every other private boating service on this side of St. Lucia. He’d called them all and promised to pull the resort’s business from them if they accepted Marcy’s request.
And where that kind of threat hadn’t worked, he’d used bribery instead, offering to pay for their refusal to provide service to the island for the next two weeks.
Details were his thing, and he wasn’t about to bend over backward to keep Marcy on the island only to let her get away through other means. He’d closed off every possible avenue of escape.
Marcy’s phone was halfway to her ear when he decided it might be better for him if he cut her off at the pass. Perhaps hearing it from him instead of Rusty would lessen the impact … and her anger.
“I wouldn’t bother. I think you’ll find everyone is booked.”
Her phone dangled from her loose fingers as she stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Just that I’ve paid them more not to come than you could pay them to come.”
And it had been worth every frickin’ penny.
She raked him with prickly blue eyes, making him feel as if ice was melting down his spine. She really did know how to use that gaze to intimidate. But he was a master himself, so it just wouldn’t work.
“You have no respect for anyone but yourself, do you?” she asked in a low voice that scared him even more than if she’d started yelling.
Time for the platitudes.
“Look, I’ll make it up to you. Name your price. A raise? An all-expenses-paid vacation? Diamonds? What will it cost me to keep you here for the next two weeks?”
“Not everything is for sale, Simon. Do I look like I care about diamonds?”
He couldn’t help it—his eyes traveled down Marcy’s body, from the tip of her blond head to the pale pink toenails that peeked out from her sandals. Really, she’d almost begged him to. And he had to admit that she didn’t look like the kind of woman who cared about jewels.
Oh, Marcy was stylish in a put-together businesswoman sort of way. But she didn’t drape herself in jewelry like some of the women he’d been known to associate with. In fact, the only jewelry she wore was a pair of small diamond studs and a single gold ring that looked suspiciously like a wedding band, only it was on her right hand.
“I had plans. Important plans. You can’t manipulate everyone and everything to get your way, Simon. You are not God and no one gave you the right to meddle in my life.”
His own anger was starting to kindle deep in his belly. He needed her here, damn it.
“I’m your boss, Marcy. I said I need you here. That should have been the end of the discussion. You’re valuable to me. Any other boss would have given you an ultimatum.”
“Right. Instead, you canceled the ferry and didn’t give me any choice in the matter.”
“Everyone has a choice.”
Her eyes sharpened before narrowing to tiny slits that reminded him of the arrow slots he’d seen in medieval castles—deadly depending on what lay behind.
“You know what—you’re right. I do have a choice. You can keep
